


Bury my Hart

by The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: AU, Animals Fighting, Curses, Falling In Love, Memory Loss, Multi, Polygomy, Rut, Shifters, Tarot, Threesome, Werewolves, animal in the shape of a man, general gunslinging violence, man in guise of an animal, nothing interspecies happens, questioning humanity, rediscovering yourself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21554158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette/pseuds/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette
Summary: "Who are you?" Her voice was a surprise, rasping like sandpaper out of her throat, sounding for all the world like someone else's voice, someone else's words. Her face furrowed. "I... I know you." Panic when the information wouldn't come, she sat there under his gaze, eyes roving over him. Pink stained her cheeks when she realized he was nude, crouching on the stones next to her. She had a moment to wonder why it didn't bother her more, then he was talking again."Arthur.... Winnie, it's Arthur." His hands returned to his side, face smoothing with shock when she did nothing but stare back.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/John Marston, Arthur Morgan/OFC, Arthur Morgan/OFC/John Marston, John Marston/OFC
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was suppose to be a one shot (guilty look at the things I'm suppose to be writing instead of this)

When she woke, gasping, at the edge of the slow moving water, the night was alive with the noises of nocturnal animals. The moonlight shown down brightly on her upturn face, forcing her to blink repeatedly before turning her head away from the light. 

Hands shook when she raised them above her face, slick with the water and ghostly pale in the light. She held them against the cold skin of her face, her neck, slowly moving downward and checking each limb before trying to sit up. When she finally tried, it was met with gasps and an aching head, vision swirling when she finally managed to somewhat right herself. 

The river stones were smooth under her fingers and calves. Shocked at the feeling, she glanced down and fingered the sodden fabric she was clothed with, recognizing it as a nightgown. It had once been white, pretty even, but now it was stained brown and red, clinging to her skin like a lover. The red gave her pause, and her fingers roved over herself once more, looking for the source. 

She found it, finally, a tender spot behind her ear, sticky and pulsing against her touch. She whimpered, quickly removing her hand, but finding no fresh blood on her skin. She sat there, staring at the moonlight bouncing on the water, and thought, hard. Eyes scrunched, forehead wrinkled. Hands curled into fists, eyes finally scrunched closed in effort. 

Her head pounded, a dull ache that hammered again and again behind her eyes as they shifted against her eyelids, struggling to remember. How had she gotten here? The knowledge flickered out of sight, wriggling like a fish on the end of a hook, caught but refusing to submit. 

Eventually, she had to concede defeat, letting the knowledge slip away, taking the pounding hammer in her head with it. 

A twig snapping brought her head up, hand coming up to hold her forehead in place as she twisted around, searching the darkened forest beyond the moonlit river shore for the source of the noise. The noises of the night continued, animals going about their nightly business, and she half expected some small animal to catch sight of her and scurry away. 

There was an animal moving towards her, but it was not small. Her eyes widened at the silhouette that slipped from the gloom, hooves making little noise on the stones as it clipped towards her. The moonlight dappled the golden fawn fur, stripped it of color where it fell, caught on the arch of antlers above its head. 

As dangerous as a predator, armed with sixteen pointed tines, sharp as knives, the large hart continued toward her. When it was a handful of feet away, the woman shifted on the river rocks, the sound loud against her ears, heart pounding in her throat. 

The hart paused, stopped, hooves settling on the rocks as its ears flicked forward, nose shivering as it breathed in. Liquid eyes watched her solemnly. 

Wait, the color was wrong. She blinked, swallowing painfully as she stared back. 

Shady blue irises wrapped around the square pupil, standing out starkly against the fur surrounding them. The wedged shaped head dipped closer, huffing as it hovered just out of reach. 

Air puffed against her face, and she lifted a hand, slowly, ever so slowly. A small sound of surprise slipped from her when the deer made the last move, pressing the column of its nose against her palm, rubbing against her touch. The antlers dipped over her head, caging her in, and the breath sawed out of her lungs as a smooth tine touched her cheek. 

The deer huffed and moved closer, pushing her hand with it, and the warm nose touched her cheek, following the path down to her mouth. It nuzzled the edge of her lip, almost gently, and the moonlight shivered around its form. There was a heartbeat of a moment where the shape wavered, grew hazy and golden under her fingers, and then her hand was flush against a stubbled cheek, lips rasping at the corner of her mouth before covering her own. Her breath caught, confused. Was she hallucinating?

"God, you scared me, girl." The voice that rumbled against her lips sent a shiver through her, the deep drawl bringing back that feeling of a slippery memory on a hook, fluttering just out of reach. When he kissed her again, she made a noise as his lips parted hers, and he drew back. 

Hands framed her face, tilted upwards, and she met the same blue eyes that only moments before had stared at her from the deer. Now, they were nestled under heavy brows, a nose set between them that looked like it had been broken at least once. A scar along his chin, lips pressed thin in concern. A face that made her head pound, chest ache, as she fought to think. She knew this face, felt it in her bones. 

And yet, she was unable to place it. 

"Winnifred. You ok?" When she didn't answer, his brow lowered even further, eyes sweeping her figure. His hand settled on the red stain at her hip, then drew back in surprise as she twisted away from his touch. 

"Who are you?" Her voice was a surprise, rasping like sandpaper out of her throat, sounding for all the world like someone else's voice, someone else's words. Her face furrowed. "I... I know you." Panic when the information wouldn't come, she sat there under his gaze, eyes roving over him. Pink stained her cheeks when she realized he was nude, crouching on the stones next to her. She had a moment to wonder why it didn't bother her more, then he was talking again. 

"Arthur.... Winnie, it's Arthur." His hands returned to his side, face smoothing with shock when she did nothing but stare back. 

Arthur. The name meant something, there, at the corner of her mind. She tried to grab it, but the headache came back, pounding against the back of her eyes. The name he had whispered at her fit like a glove, like an old friend come home. Why wasn't it the same for this man, who felt so familiar? She hissed, grabbing her head, crying out as she bent double.

"Easy, it's ok, you're ok." Soft, soothing words. Safe arms, strong and bulky as they wrapped around her. 

She fought for half a second, and he pulled back, but then she surged forward, burying her nose in a scent that practically sent her careening into a memory. Safety. That scent, the odd combination of man, leather and sweat, had always meant safety. Her mind might not recognize his name, but her body recognized him. 

He shooshed her, hand carding through her hair. He paused when he found the wound, probing the edges softly when she whimpered. "That's a nasty mark, darlin." He shifted, head turning to look up the river. "I can't treat you here. Think you could ride a little ways?"

The idea gave her pause. Was it really wise to leave with a man she didn't know? Winnie breathed in deeply again, trying to tramp down the bubbling feeling of panic with his scent. Finally, after what felt like forever, she nodded against his throat, and he heaved a sigh as if he knew what her racing mind was thinking. 

"Alright, hang on-" he stopped abruptly, going still against her. 

She stiffened as well. Far off, a lone howl rose above the trees. Even fainter, the report from a rifle answered. 

"Dammit, John." It came out a snarl, hands shifting to wrap around her shoulders as he pulled her up. She went with him bonelessly, hands raised to hold her brain in place again, her groan muffled. 

He looked down at her, worry eating at his mouth, and let her lean against his side. "I'm gonna shift, Winnie. Just hold on."

She tried curling her fingers around his arm, but the limb wavered through her grip when his form shivered in the moonlight, that golden haze eating at the edges of his features and rearranging them back into the deer. Golden fur erupted over the rolling skin under her touch, and she was left struggling to stand, trying to pull away from the animal. 

She didn't get very far, the deer moving with her as he pushed closer, nudging with his nose to get the point across. Winnie stepped in close again, one hand on his shoulder and the other grasping the smooth antler that was offered. 

Arthur knelt on his front knees to make the approach easier, and before she could second guess her decision she was moving, muscles obeying as he tilted his head and tugged her upwards. She settled just behind his shoulders, legs curled backwards on his ribs and arms looped around his neck. 

One blue eye rolled back to check on her, and then with a huff and a bound he was off, hooves scattering rocks as he launched himself into the forest, navigating the gloom as if it was second nature. 

Winnie's breath caught in her throat, her stomach left back on the river shore as panic of the unknown fought with pure joy. She kept her head low, still wary of the bob and sway of the antlers above her head. She jumped when Arthur let out a bellowing bark, the call echoing. 

His head swiveled, ears rotating, and he slowed. For a moment, all Winnie could hear was his harsh breaths, before she realized that it was actually her that was breathing hard. Her hands shook, and she clasped her fingers around her wrists, burrowing into the thick, ruffled ridge of fur at his shoulders and breathing in deeply, trying not to shudder as Arthur let out another haunting bark, sounding more like an elk than a simple white-tailed deer. 

A howl answered, closer than the one before, sending Winnie's heart racing as cold sweat broke out on her spine. Arthur's head turned towards it, ears angling forward, then back quickly as he leapt forward again, dodging trees as they broke through the poor light and once even leaping over a boulder with barely a pause, pulling a half shriek from Winnie. 

Time passed meaninglessly as they ran, and Winnie soon lost all sense of direction. Arthur seemed intent, pausing every so often and letting out a call, and each time the howl answered, closer and closer. Winnie wished he would stop, afraid that any moment the wolf would find them, but didn't know if he could understand her in this form. 

They broke through the cover of trees, and Winnie could see a winking light off in the distance, across a vast field. Arthur angled towards the light, slowing down from the break neck speed until each stride was a gently hopping bound, bringing back the swooping sensation in Winnie's stomach.   
A puff of hot, moist air hit her bare calf, and Winnie twisted, heart in her throat as she glanced over her shoulder. Her hair blocked her vision for half a dozen heartbeats, and with an impatient gesture she brushed it aside, and felt her heart plummet. 

Dark coat, white teeth, red tongue lolling out over the sharp edges. The wolf kept pace with the deer easily, large paws eating up the ground and carrying the beast silently. Brown eyes flickered upwards, locked on Winnie's face, and she felt the blood drain from her head. 

A scream lodged in her throat, panic beat down the joy, and she had a second to wonder why Arthur wasn't madly trying to escape when her fingers suddenly slackened, grip relaxing as a flash of sensory overloaded her mind and bombarded her with images. 

Teeth snapping, a dreadful growl, and her own words. "You need to leave."

She almost lost her balance when Arthur sailed over a wooden fence, his back hooves swishing through the tall cannas that grew on the other side. The wolf slipped under the fence, panting slightly as the deer finally turned to acknowledge it.

Winnie gripped the tawny fur between Arthur’s shoulders tighter, expecting the stag to stomp the canid, but Arthur only huffed over the wolf’s head, rubbing against its shoulder in familiarity before he dropped to his knees and rolled an eye back to Winnie.

She brought her legs up higher when the wolf turned its attention to her, fear clogging up her throat. Arthur shifted under her, muscles sliding as he lowered one shoulder even further, as if hoping she’d get the hint.

The wolf contorted into itself, muscles roiling as it fell to the floor with a pained whine. Winnie burrowed her head in Arthur’s neck and shut her eyes at the sound, feeling sick rise up the back of her throat. A human grunt of pain sounded to her left, loud in the night, and then a shuddering breath.

She dared not open her eyes and look, the darkness soothing compared to the pain even the moonlight brought. The deer let out a questioning noise underneath her, and a hand slid over her own tightly clenched fist.

Winnie’s eyes snapped open, head pounding at the soft brown eyes that stared back at her, mouth set as though expecting a reaction from her. She glanced down at his long fingered, scarred hand wrapped around her own, and then followed the lines of his arm up to his face once more.

“Winnie,” his voice rasped over her, and she gasped, a nagging thought in the back of her head that she knew this man as well, behind the aching wall of darkness that sought to beat her down. She latched onto a thread of a thought hiding behind her mental image of Arthur, tugging it forward until it was pulled reluctantly into the light. It took a moment, a long time of looking into his eyes, before she could croak out a word. 

“John?”

—————————————————

Winnie struggled not to wiggle away, her spine a tense line as Arthur once again brushed his hands through her hair, trying to clean the river mud and debris from the wound that throbbed every time a strand was moved.

Finally he leaned back, head appearing over her shoulder to peer down at her clenched face. “Winnie.” 

He waited until she opened her eyes, the soft glow of the fire in the grate across the room sending a tendril of stabbing pain into the back of her eyes. He smoothed a hand down the back of her neck. 

“You’re gonna have to let John help.”

The words were soft, but her heart rate still skyrocketed, her eyes involuntarily jumping to the man crouched at the far end of the cabin, trying to blend in with the rough timbers.

She hadn’t let him get near her after she recognized him, fear bubbling up unexpectedly every time he so much as twitched in her field of vision. She could tell it pained him, if the look on his face was anything to go by, but so far she had been unable to fight the hyperventilation that gripped her chest at his presence. She had all but fallen off of Arthur trying to put distance between them earlier, and now just the sight of his eyes reflecting the gold of the fire was enough to draw her legs up in an effort to shy away.

Arthur’s slow run of fingers down her back brought her back, and he rolled her slightly until he could loom over her, all but cutting out the heavy oaken beams above them. His hand found her hip, caging her in and pulling her attention to him alone.

“I promise you, Winnie,” he knew his presence meant safety to her right now, in this fight or flight mindset, and he used the lure of his voice, deepening it until it was almost a croon. “He would sooner hurt himself than you.”

He held her there with his gaze for a long moment, watching her breathe in and out as she fought to give in, to do what he wanted. Eventually, her breath escaped in a hiss, eyes fluttering back shut as she grabbed for his hand to hold.

Arthur turned his gaze to John, a slow nod all that was needed for the latter to unwind from his cramped position and slink towards the bed, trying to stay low and out of sight until he could pull himself up beside them.

Winnie tensed when the bed dipped, but she kept her eyes closed, hand twitching as John’s scarred palm slid against the back of her hand and moved her fingers away from Arthur’s wrist. Her fingers were pushed wide apart as he laced them with his own, and the mattress wobbled as he stretched out beside her. 

She felt Arthur lean back, the glow of the fire brightening the back of her eyelids for a moment before the two men encouraged her to roll slightly until she could feel John’s breath on her face. 

She knew it was John, because her shoulders tensed up, heartbeat racking out a staccato against her ribs like a moth beating against glass. His free hand followed the curve of her arm, down to where her hip twitched from the tension in her spine. His fingers lingered there, tightening as Arthur turned his attention back to cleaning the wound.

She gasped at the first touch of whiskey soaked cotton to the edge, fighting the instinct to rear away from the pain. John’s hand kept her hip still, his shoulders curling inwards as he shuffled closer. The line of heat from his body became the perfect incentive to stay still, her mind screaming at her for allowing him so near.

“I know you don’t remember,” his voice was as close to a whisper as the rasp would allow, still dreadfully loud in the near quiet of the cabin with only the occasional pop of a log in the fireplace and the soft movements of Arthur to keep it company. “But when we first met, you were actually skittish of Arthur, not me.”

His voice wove around her, lulling her in. Her fingers gripped his tightly when Arthur pressed the cotton directly over the wound, teeth gritting. John’s hand on her hip splayed out, fingers curving around until he could control her instinctual movements to move away from the pain. 

“Almost done, darlin’,” Arthur pulled back the cotton, turning to rummage in the satchel he had dragged out of the hope chest at the foot of the bed, leaving her alone with John.

John brought their laced hands up to his mouth, lips pressing a quick kiss to the inside of her wrist as she relaxed at the absence of pain. His nose nudged in-between their clasped fingers, breath hot on her palm, and she gasped, eyes scrunching.

“We met… at a post office.” Her voice was small, barely a breath of sound, but both men froze. Arthur returned to looming over her, his presence a hot line between her shoulders. John’s nose was still buried between their hands, but she felt his breath stutter at her sentence. 

“I was… playing with cards,” Winnie opened her eyes and blinked up at the hopeful look on Arthur’s face. “You punched someone through the window.”

John’s laugh was muffled against her palm. A blush stole over Arthur’s face, and he leaned back, mumbling, “bastard deserved it.” His hand cupped the side of her face, turning it slightly away as he wiped something cool over the back of her head, and she sighed in surprised pleasure as a tingling numbness swept over the area.

“Do you remember anything else?” John whispered the question against her skin, and she fought the urge to take her hand away. She swallowed, then hummed.

“You- I… I read the cards for you” She wasn’t sure what happened afterwards, the imagery already pulling back under the darkness of lost memory. She railed against it for a moment, then quickly gave up with a curse, shaking off John’s hold and raising her hands up to hold her forehead in place.

Arthur sat back, and Winnie felt his arm snake over her to grab John’s shoulder, likely keeping him from pressing his luck and trying to comfort her again.

“Think it’s safe for you to sleep if you want to, Winnie.” He shifted on the bed to pull a blanket out from under her, laying the thick wool over her instead. “I’ll have to wake you every couple of hours, though.”

She nodded, feeling that exhaustion creeping up on her limbs as if he had called it up into existence, and curled into a ball, shying away from the two men. 

They took the hint, Arthur moving first and dragging John with him, leaving her alone with only the fire in the grate for company.

Winnie felt a few tears leak out of the corner of her eyes, stress, fear, pain and exhaustion blending together until she felt like a porcelain doll, ready to crack under the first hard shake. She breathed out slowly, trying to control the shaking of her hands, and started when she heard the whisper of a voice. 

She froze, hands stilling as she tried to locate it. When it came again she lowered her hands just enough to peek over the edge of her arm, searching the room for the source.

The front door was half open, a cool breeze slinking through to battle with the heat coming from the fireplace. Winnie could just see the outline of Arthur’s right shoulder through the door, John’s moonlit face peering up at him. His mouth was moving, and she covered her mouth to stifle her breathing, trying to hear what he said.

“-so scared, Arthur. She’s never been scared of me.” His hand came up to cover his eyes before sliding down to his mouth, the other pressed against his stomach.

“We knew it would happen, eventually, John.” Arthur’s voice was pitched soothingly, his hand curled around John’s forearm in an effort to tug it away from his face. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But-”

“If you’d hadn’t, it would’ve been much worse.” Arthur shifted, blocking her view for a moment, his voice dropping to an even quieter hum. 

John shook his head as if denying the words, trying to twist out of the older man’s grasp. Winnie could see the strain in Arthur’s shoulder and the tension in his grip he had on the younger man. Abruptly though, his grip switched, hands coming up to frame John’s face to pull him closer, lips connecting as they turned. Arthur pinned John against the doorframe, teeth nipping as they trailed under John’s jaw and down his neck. 

John’s head had crashed back, the resounding thud of bone on wood enough to snap Winnie out of her trance, and she curled up again, putting her back to the two men to give them privacy. Suddenly, the bed seemed too empty, and she too alone, and the tears came back with the ache behind her ears.

—————————————————

_The wind was out of the northwest, brisk and chilly, strong enough to turn the weathervane and run invisible lines through the tall grass in the meadows._

_Winnie turned her face to the wind when she stepped out of the general store in in little town of Lockseed, loving the feel of incoming fall on her skin. The change of weather came at the perfect time, wiping away the memory of stifling summer days and unending heat._

_She hummed to herself as she crossed the wooden planks down to the dirt road, hand trying vainly to keep her long hair out of her face as the wind whipped it back and forth across her vision. She stepped to the side to allow a double teamed wagon to pass, and then followed it slowly towards the post office, conscious of the letter buried in the bottom of her wicker basket._

_The bell chirped merrily above the door when she pushed it open, a smile already on her face for the older Ms. Deveau. The slightly stooped woman returned it widely and patted a parcel on the counter._

_“Winnie, dear, I was wondering when you’d turn up. Got a package for you,” she slid the parcel closer, and Winnie laughed in delight, coming forward to read the curling script on the outside._

_“Oooh, it’s from Charlie!”_

_Her hands framed the parcel, smiling down at it as if it was the actual sender and not just a piece of mail._

_Ms. Deveau cackled, hopping off her little wooden stool and disappearing for a moment under the counter to grab a pair of scissors. “Oh, that rascal.” She passed the sharpened blades over. “Let’s see what your devilish brother sent you now, eh?”_

_Winnie accepted the scissors, opening them and holding it an and angle to run the blade over the thick tape at the end of the parcel. She slid a finger inside and tugged it down, pulling the box within out in short increments._

_“I think, it’s a book?” She turned the box side to side, squinting at the unfamiliar language that decorated the outside._

_Ms. Deveau pulled a pair of small reading glasses out of her skirt pocket and leaned forward, and Winnie passed the box over. “Ah, thank you dear. Hm…” She tapped her finger over the words. “It’s not a book, at least not just a book.” She tilted the edge of the box and glanced on the other side. “I do believe he’s sent you a tarot deck.”_

_When Winnie made a questioning hum, the older woman elaborated. “It’s a deck of cards, for lack of better words.” She folded up her glasses and handed the box back, long, spindly finger tapping the ornate sun illustrated on the front. “They can tell your fortune, if you play them the right way and ask the right questions.”_

_At Winnie’s disbelieving look, she chuckled and handed the box back. “Go on, open them. We’ll figure them out together.”_

_Some time later they were laughing together, pouring over the book and taking turns deciding what each card meant before checking with the source._

_The tinkling of the bell over the door caused them both to look up, Ms. Deveau dropping the card she was holding and moving to stand behind the register._

_“Hello, dearies, can I help you?”_

_They were tall, covered in dust, mud clinging to the legs of their pants. The man in front was scarred across his face, the lines red and angry as they cut across his visage. The man behind him wasn’t that much better, eyes flickering around the room as if he was unused to walls._

_The two men were the furthest thing from ‘dearies’ that Winnie could think of, and she snorted a little, quickly turning away and busying herself with the cards again when they both glanced over._

_The Scarred One nudged Mr. Scared Eyes, gesturing towards the counter, and he stepped forward, clearing his throat nervously before reaching into his coat._

_“I.. have a letter.”_

_“And he wants to mail it.” Scarred helpfully supplied when his companion just held out the envelope, the paper hanging in the air for a moment before Ms. Deveau blinked and took it._

_“Of course,” she said warmly, “and where is it going, young man?”_

_He shifted, looking towards the younger for help, but the other man simply shook his head and jerked his chin._

_“Um… Blackwater?”_

_“Blackwater, that’s quite a ways,” Ms. Deveau smiled when the man seemed to deflate under her gaze. “Wait right here, dearie, I’ll go get a stamp for it.” She hopped off her stool, fluffed her skirts and walked around to the back room, winking at Winnie as she went._

_The younger woman rolled her eyes, flipping through the book to find the entry for the six of Chalices, only raising her head when she heard the shift of spurred boots on the wooden floorboards._

_Mr. Scarred was looking over at her curiously, a ready grin on his face when he caught her gaze. “Good morning, ma’am.” The smile did wonders for his face, lighted up his eyes and pulled attention away from the grisly marks._

_She returned it with a small one of her own. “Good morning yourself.” She idled, fingers playing with a page, and he stepped closer, his companion leaning on the counter to better see what she was doing. She bit her lip, glanced down to see the Knight of Chalices balanced on top of the pile, and looked back up to smile at him again. He blinked, surprised, when she held out her hand to shake. “Winnie.”_

_“John,” he returned, grip sure and firm when he took her hand, nodding over his shoulder towards the other man. “This is Arthur.”_

_Arthur shifted on his feet, unsure, before he nodded, “hello.”_

_John rolled his eyes, fondness warring with exasperation in the dark depths. “Get over here and shake the woman’s hand, Arthur.”_

_Winnie blinked in surprise at the blush that stole over the older man’s face, but he pushed off the counter and came to stand in front of her. Her hesitant smile got a quirk of his lip in return, but then her gaze got caught in his eyes._

_They were strange, almost too blue, and she wondered how such a wide and strong looking man could have that much skittishness and unease in his eyes. She didn’t realize he was staring as well until John chuckled and nudged his shoulder._

_Arthur jerked at the contact, then stuck out his hand a little too fast, the blush a permanent fixture as Winnie looked at his hand before sliding her own into it._

_His grip was softer than John’s, as if scared he’d hurt her, and he barely moved it up and down during the shake. Winnie scrunched her nose up when he let go, making John let out a bark of laughter and Arthur’s shoulders rise up around his ears._

_“You’ll get it,” John patted his back, stealing Winnie’s attention away from the larger man when he leaned forward and tapped the cover of her book. “Reading tarot?” At her nod, he leaned an elbow on the dark wood, grinning again. “You any good?”_

_Winnie got what he was angling towards, rolling her eyes in a mockery of him and gathering up the cards, shuffling them while staring him down. He seemed amused when she held out the deck, fingers nimble as it cut them three times and then passed them back over._

_Arthur was peering over his shoulder, so close he must have been touching John’s back, but the younger man stood calmly as Winnie flipped the deck one more time and dealt three cards facing the men._

_The Knave of Wands stood proud and strong, rich colors and jewels adorning his clothes, a smile of contentedness upon his face. Opposite him, the ten of swords painted a bloody picture, the body upon its face pierced ten times. In the Middle, the serene face of the moon hung in the balance, animals of the forest guarding the gated path beneath her._

_John’s face twisted as he gazed down at them, but it was Arthur that reached around him to tap at the card from the suit of swords. “That doesn’t look good.”_

_Winnie turned the book to the ten of swords and read, “affliction, inescapability, tears, desolation, emptiness.” She paused, regretting her impulsiveness, but John simply tapped the Knaves of Wands and she quickly turned to its page. “companion, falling in love, loyalty, help.”_

_“Well that one ain’t so bad,” he turned the grin slightly to include Arthur as well, but the older man just grunted at him._

_Ms. Deveau appeared again, huffing slightly as she hopped back up on the stool. “Here you go, dearie, sorry it took so long. Little devil was hiding on the top shelf.”_

_Arthur glanced at John before moving back to the register, hands reaching into the satchel at his waist to dig out a penny for the stamp. Winnie watched him walk away, before John shifted next to her and pointed at the last card._

_“What does that one mean?” His voice was pitched low so it wouldn’t carry, the edge on his rasp bringing a shiver down her spine as she turned the book to the final card._

_“The Moon symbolizes visions, dreams and illusions. infatuation, curiosity for the unknown and romanticism.” She paused, watching as his fingers traced over the little image of a stag and wolf hiding in the trees. “I think it’s talking about a journey.”_

_He looked up, interest in his eyes, and she continued. “The moon shows you a journey you have to undertake, and the other two are facets of that journey.”_

_“This one paints a pretty bleak outcome,” he returned The Moon card, tapped the ten of swords card and then leaned back, as if to distance himself._

_“But,” Winnie slid the Knave of Wands closer to him, “you’ll have help.”_

_“Yeah,” he turned to look back at Arthur, “I do.” He shook himself, and then turned back to Winnie, sticking out his hand again. “Thanks, Winnie. Hope it wasn’t too much of a bother.”_

_“No bother,” she mumbled and turned red under his easy stare._

_She was saved from further embarrassment by the tinkling of the bell over the door. John stiffened, standing ramrod straight, and when she peered around him she let out a gasp, fear skittering through her limbs._

_A man, bandana pulled up over his face and a hat low over his brow, had a long barreled shotgun trained on the back of Arthur’s head, so close the metal was brushing his hair. Another man moved in behind him, gun pointed at John._

_“Nobody move. Hand us the money, old woman, or else I’ll leave you a mess to clean.”_

_John had a grip hard on her wrist, keeping her behind him, and Winnie clenched the back of his coat tight, very much aware that his fingers were twitching towards the gun on his hip._

_Arthur didn’t raise his hands, flinch, or even move. Instead, he slowly turned his head, nervousness and unease gone as he rumbled. “Better point that thing someplace else, boy.”_

_The man jabbed him with the gun, forcing his head forward. “Quiet, pretty boy.”_

_John tensed further under her fingers, a quiet rumble sounding from his chest as he pushed Winnie back even further. She saw Arthur glance at him for a heartbeat, John’s subtle shake of the head, and then all hell broke loose._

_Arthur spun and knocked the gun away at the same time John bodily threw Winnie to the floor, his gun barely cleared leather before the deadly roar of the chamber sounded twice, the man just in the door jerking as the bullets pierced his chest in quick succession._

_The silence that followed was broken by the sound of a fist striking flesh and the sound of glass breaking._

_“Arthur!” John stepped quickly forward and grabbed the other man’s shoulder, holding him back when it was clear he wanted to continue after his attacker._

_Winnie popped her head up, mouth hanging open at the scene. The man at the door was definitely dead, slumped over in an unnatural pose. John had Arthur by the back of his coat, visibly pulling the other man away from the broken window. Ms. Deveau had dived behind the counter, her thin nose peeking over as she surveyed the damage._

_“Well, dearies,” her voice sounded shaky, “I suppose thanks are in order.”_

_“We gotta go,” John was pulling and pushing Arthur out the door, but Ms. Deveau finally stood, reaching out as though beseeching them to stay._

_“Wait, boys, the sherif’ll want to speak to you!”_

_“We don’t want to speak to him,” was John’s bitten reply as he bodily shoved Arthur out the door._

_Winnie and Ms. Deveau stared in shock at the empty space the men had recently occupied, until the older woman shook herself and tottered around to where Winnie was still splayed out on the floor. “Are you all right, dear?”_

_She nodded numbly, staring at the dropped cards around her, the Emperor peeping through the spaces of her fingers._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new year! The will to live restored! No more spending time with relatives so I can write without having someone look over my shoulder!

Winnie woke alone in the too big bed, limbs sprawled across the sheets in an undignified manner. There was a cool breeze blowing over her shoulders, the thin cotton of her nightgown doing little to block the wind, though the heavy blanket had kept the night's chill at bay. 

Her head ached, like nails scrapped the inside. A loop of strange dreams flickering on the backs of her eyelids doing little to buffer the feeling, bounding deer and wolves with mouths full of teeth. She shifted to her side, hand sliding over her face and around to the edge of the bandage wrapped around her head before she scrunched her eyes and blinked them open. 

Sunlight streamed into the cabin through open windows, the fire a pile of ash in the grate. Birdsong sounded from somewhere outside, and a soft snore from indoors. Winnie glanced over to see John splayed out in a chair next to the bed, limbs limp and head rolling over the back. He snored again, a slight hiccup in his chest catching on the sound, and he shifted, mumbling in his sleep. 

She watched him for a moment, waiting for that rise of fear to bubble up her throat, but it didn't appear. He shifted again, hand coming up to absently scratch at his stomach, and she finally tore her eyes away, instead looking around the cabin. 

It was one room with the bed at the back underneath a window, a wall jutting out into the space to keep it a little separate from the rest of the cabin. The fireplace took up most of the wall on the opposite side, it's mantle littered with picture frames and a large vase full of white flowers. 

Drawn to the pictures, Winnie shifted to the edge of the bed and dropped one foot down, eyes flickering over to John to make sure he was still asleep. His head was turned away from her, chest rising and falling steadily, and after a moment she shuffled forward and stood slowly, wincing at the dull pain stabbing through the soles of her feet and up her legs. 

The wooden floor barely creaked under her feet as she tiptoed over to the fireplace, hands reaching out to pick up the biggest frame, a heavy dark wood that gleamed in the sunlight.

She peered at it in shock, blinking twice before shifting her grip so she could hold it with both hands, staring down at the familiar faces. 

She was standing in the middle, a huge smile on her face, hands clasped in the crook of the elbows of the men standing on either side of her, long white gown raised up just enough to glimpse bare feet underneath. 

John looked as scarred as ever, face somehow ruddy with embarrassment even in black and white. He had an old, scuffed up hat on his head, hiding his hair, but it was the soft smile on his face as he woodenly faced whoever was taking the picture that caught her off guard. 

Arthur stood on her other side, his hat held respectively in one hand, the other pulled tight across his chest in an effort to pull her and John closer. He was the only one not looking at the photographer, instead seemingly mid laugh as he looked at the other two. 

Winnie's finger traced over the smile on her face, brows furrowed in thought as her eyes flickered between all three figures' expressions. 

"You and Arthur were so happy that day." Johns voice made her jump, turning slightly to see him huff and sit up straight, back popping as he stretched and then slumped back down. "You both convinced me we needed a photo." His voice sounded worse in the morning. He scrubbed his eyes of sleep and then raise them to meet her own. 

There was that fear, belatedly rising up to choke the back of her throat, and her grip tightened on the frame. John frowned, the lines marring his cheeks and forehead, as he breathed in slowly and then released the air. 

"I ain't gonna hurt you, Winnie."

She forced herself to look away, ignore the pounding in her chest, instead focusing on all the photos lined up proper on the mantle. “You don’t like photos?”

“You two like em just fine, and that’s enough for me.” There was fondness in his tone, words soft and sweet, but Winnie frowned at the underlining message that Arthur and her could sway his decisions.

She glanced back down at the picture again, eyes going back to the white dress, and recognition shocked her fingers. "This is a wedding photo." Her voice sounded strained in the silence. John's guilty shifting drew her gaze upward again. 

"Yes."

She stared at him, mouth slightly opened, question caught in her throat before she could force it out. "Who-?"

"Ours." John whispered. "Arthur, you... and me."

Her jaw snapped shut, quickly placing the frame back as if it had burned her and gripping the mantle to stay upright. After a moment, she breathed in, the fuzzy feeling fading from her head. “Both of you?”

The chair scraped as John stood hesitantly, moving forward to stand behind her. She felt him like a line of fire down her back where he stopped just a foot away. "Please, don't touch me."

"You're shakin like a leaf." His tone was flat, emotion carefully guarded, and she looked back at him for a moment, fearful of what she might see. When she caught his hands curling into fists her eyes snapped up to his, taking in the darkened color and realizing he very much so wanted to touch her. 

She quickly sidestepped away, eyes darting away from him in an effort to distance herself, and they caught on another photo. It was of Arthur, fast asleep under a tree with his hat on his face, her small body curled up next to him and a shadow splayed across them, likely whoever took the picture. He had a big arm draped across her lap, her fingers wrapped around his wrist and hand as if they were holding onto each other even in sleep. 

"Where's Arthur?" He at least felt safe, even if he was just as much a stranger as John. 

John seemed to deflate, stepping away and returning to his chair. "He went to care for the animals, should be back soon." He didn't miss the fact that she had relaxed marginally as soon as he had moved away. "Come lay down again, Winnie. I promise," he added when she tensed again. "I'll stay right here." He patted the chair's arm for effect, hands long and loose on the plain fabric. 

She took a hesitant step nearer, eyes on him to see if he would move. When he stayed still as promised, she crossed quickly to the bed and slid back under the blanket, burrowing into the warmth and the guise of protection it offered. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the birdsong drifting in from the open window doing little to break the tension, when he suddenly blew out a breath, the sound making Winnie jump reflexively. 

"Sorry." The word was bitten off quickly. When she shifted again, legs drawing up to curl into a ball, he spoke again. 

"Would it be easier..." He trailed off, shifted in his seat, licked his lips. Winnie realized he was nervous when he finally looked over and saw her staring back, the skin around his eyes tight with strain and worry. He began once more, each word was slow and deliberate. "Would I scare you less if I shifted?" 

At her confused look he tried again. "If I were wolf, babe." She jerked at the pet name, the curl of affection as it left his mouth, but his words quickly distracted her. 

"If- if you were...?" She sat suddenly straight up, back rigid. "I thought I dreamt that!"

He chuckled at her outraged and shocked expression. "No, I don't think you did, Winnie."

A thought flitted past her mind. "And the hart?"

"Arthur," he confirmed with a nod. When she continued to stare at him, he prodded again. "You want me as a wolf?"

She deliberated. The animal was a predator, dangerous in its own right instead of the vague threat John seemed to offer as a man. Still, she was curious, wanted to see it with her own eyes. Last night still seemed like a distant dream. 

Slowly, she nodded.

John stood just as slow, hands moving to rid himself of his shirt before dropping to his belt buckle. Winnie blushed and looked away, half an idea to tell him to stop in her mind before she heard the sound of the buckle hitting the floor. 

She peeked with one eye to see his body, nude, stretching forward as he crawled up on the foot of the bed, and she forgot for a moment that she shouldn't look. His scars continued down his side, across the lean muscles of his chest. A particularly vicious one marred the skin over his hip, the scarred tissue raised and bubbly as it snaked downwards. He was handsome under all the disfiguring marks, maybe even more so because of them, though her fear kept softer emotions at bay. 

He caught her looking and smirked, turning slightly to face her more head on. 

Winnie backed away from him in response, a noise escaping her throat as she turned to glare pointedly at the wall. She pressed up against the headboard in an effort to keep as much space as possible between them. 

He gave her a bare thread of a chuckle and then closed his eyes, breath leaving in a gasp as he bent double. Muscles roiled under the skin on his back, his arms bending and dragging down the curve of his spine as his face split open, a canid whine leaving what was fast becoming a muzzle as fur erupted over his skin. 

Winnie sat transfixed as the wolf rolled to its side, hind legs giving a little kick before the muscles settled and the beast turned its head towards her.

John’s eyes stared back, blinking as he waited for her verdict.

She still feared him, those powerful jaws snapping again in her head whenever she closed her eyes, but she fought to keep still on her side of the bed. “If I’d known it was going to hurt you, I wouldn’t have agreed.”

His thick tail bounced as it wagged on the bed, a decidedly dog-like manner that popped through the bubble of fear and made her laugh, though she quickly snapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

“John?” Arthur’s voice sounded from around the separating wall. Slow, sure steps across the floor, and then he was peering around the wall, arm raised to lean against it as he took in the other two. He gave an easy smile when he saw Winnie was awake, moving forward to stand at the end of the bed to lean over John instead. Arthur's fingers curled into the dark fur, the wolf letting out a rumbled groan at the contact and turning his head towards the man. 

Winnie squirmed under his affectionate look, trying to keep her eyes away from the open collar of his shirt and the skin showing underneath, and failing miserably. He was slightly ruddy from whatever work he had been doing, color high in his cheeks and bits of hay in his hair. The tension in her body had disappeared as soon as he had rounded the corner, to be replaced by a different emotion. It didn't help in any way that she found him naturally handsome, but it was a heady concoction to remember that she was technically married to him, coupled with the sheer relief she felt when he was near. 

John's dark eyes turned towards her again, and the feeling of want disappeared when she was reminded that she was married to both of them. She ducked her head, curling inwards on herself. 

Arthur was silent for a beat, assessing the situation, before he asked, "how are you feeling?"

She nodded automatically, "better. Still a little fuzzy, though."

"I'll need to look at your head again sometime today," he scratched at the crown of John's head, hands smoothing the fur that he had ruffled. "In the meantime, you hungry?" She peered up at him without raising her head, eyes furrowed as if she was debating saying something. 

John huffed under the hold Arthur had on him, a bark that sounded suspiciously like a laugh resonating in his chest as he rolled a liquid eye up at Arthur. When the man glanced down, he had a mouth full of teeth bared in a semblance of a grin. 

"What?" Arthur glanced between them quickly, then realization crossed his face. "Oh..." He grinned again, slightly devious at the edges, and Winnie finally raised her head to stare at him in confusion. 

"I eat meat."

The way he said it, with a smirk at the corners of his mouth and the amused gleam in his eye, had her face heating up like an inferno, the double innuendo obvious. She gaped at him for a moment, taking in the way his smirk widened and his head ducked forward to pin her gaze. She broke first, head dropping into her hands as an embarrassed whine bubbled out of her. 

Arthur huffed at her distress, patting John's rump before retreating slightly. "I'll go... make some food." 

John watched him go, then turned to Winnie again. She peeked between her fingers, glancing around for Arthur before lowering her hands. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to Arthur tinker and putter around in what sounded like the kitchen on the other side of the wall. 

Tension built and built, Winnie's fingers twisting around each other as she stared at the mantle behind John's head. Abruptly she bolted to her feet, stumbling a little before catching herself on the wall and pushing off. She over corrected in an effort to avoid John as he jumped to the floor after her, banging her hip on the edge of the hope chest as she sprinted around the corner. Her eyes swept over the kitchen and locked on the open door beyond, dodging the hand that Arthur had stuck out in an effort to slow her down and ran for the door, bursting into the sunshine. 

Her breathed left her in a heave as she froze just outside the door, belatedly feeling the curl of Arthur's fingers over her wrist to keep her from going any further. The precaution was unnecessary however as she dropped to her knees and grabbed her head, pulling Arthur with her, gagging as the wall of darkness shifted and belched out information. 

_Hands settled on her waist, pulling her down from the back of a horse. Laughing brown eyes flashed up at her, crinkled at the corners. John twirled her in a circle before setting her down, finally allowing her to catch a glimpse of what he and Arthur had called their '"wedding gift"._

_It was their cabin, and her cheeks heated up automatically remembering the last time they had taken shelter under it during the thunderstorm. The sad little derelict building had been almost completely lost to the forest over time, it was amazing they had even found it at first. Now however, it looked completely rebuilt, the grass short and soft around it. A little barn sat the edge of the clearing, a red cow sticking its face out at the commotion._

_"What do you think?" Arthur was waiting for them, leaning against the rough wooden logs with a soft smile on his face, a hint of worry in his eyes as he waited for her answer._

_Her cheeks hurt from smiling so wide, taking a moment to slowly look around at the flowers growing along the fence, the tall oak casting shadows on the lawn, and the stone well fixed and standing once more._

_"It's perfect."_

—————————————

Winnie was hiding among those flowers now, sitting with her back tucked against the fence, giant daffodils and purple irises rising above her head in a curtain of sweet smelling blooms. She squeezed her eyes shut, hands wiping away the tears at the corners. She heard a soft sigh from the other side of the fence, and her shoulders tightened, a muffled sob slipping out. 

"I'm sorry, darlin'," Arthur's drawl wrapped around her, the grass crunching slightly as he shifted. When she kept quiet, he huffed and continued. "I shouldn't have... pushed you. Usually, something like that would've made you laugh."

She blinked again, felt tracks of liquid slip down her face, and rubbed angrily at them. She shut her eyes again as the wind blew through the flowers, their faces waving lazily over her hunched form. 

"You're a terrible flirt, Arthur Morgan." She whispered the words into the thin skin on the back of her hand, watching as a few tears dripped down and landed on her knees, dampening her skirt. 

The grass crunched under his boots, a quiet, self-deprecating laugh slipping out. "I know, John always said I learned that too well..." He trailed off, silent for a beat, then: "what'd you call me, Winnie?"

She thought back, confused. "Arthur Morgan?"

"You remember," his voice sounded lighter. "You know that's your name, too?"

"Morgan?" Her head hurt again, and she sighed, suddenly tired of everything she had to remember. 

"You signed it on the papers. Had to pick one, doubt the priest we swindled would've stood for much more than we had already threatened him for." A curl of amusement hid at the edge of his words, but it only served to bring more tears. She scrubbed at her eyes again, desperation welling up along with the liquid. 

"Winnie?" When she finally looked up, he had leaned around the fence, the amusement nowhere to be found on his face when he took in her state. 

"I don't... remember... anything, Arthur." It came out angry, but he didn't retreat. Instead,he shifted his weight and held out a hand, letting it hang in the air between them. 

"C'mere, darlin'."

She stared at it for far too long, debating between staying sullen and angry, and giving in to the comfort he obviously was offering. In the end, when her palm slipped again his own, his fingers curled quickly and trapped her hand, pulling her effortlessly around the fence and into his arms. 

He pulled until she was in his lap, legs tucked against his far hip, and wrapped those solid arms around her shoulders, tucking her head underneath his chin. The familiarity seeped into the motions that she knew, and yet didn't remember, had her bursting out in tears, hands curled into claws in the fabric of his shirt as she let go. She wanted to hide from the world, from Arthur, John, and this perfect home that taunted her with memories. She wanted to become some faceless animal in the forest, innocent and naive. To spend her days wandering where no one knew who she was, so she didn't have to pretend to know herself. 

Arthur pulled her back from the brink, hands in her hair and across her back, giving her something solid to rage against. He withstood her tears and her abuse easily, her head lodged securely against his collarbone and her hands trapped between them where they could do no harm to her or him, and he waited. 

It was the best gift he could've given. He didn't shoosh her or try and stop her fit, just contained it until she quieted by herself. When she finally sagged against him, fight drained from her muscles and eyes sticky with grief, he finally moved, pulling her head back until he could wipe at her eyes. 

She stared back at him numbly, accepting his mother henning as he finished cleaning her face and smoothed her hair back down. He kept up the motion, pulling her forward and against his chest again, a shuddering breath leaving him when they collided. 

"It'll be ok, Winnie," his voice was a rumble under her ear. "It won't be easy, but we'll get there. You have me and John, and you always will."

She was silent, muscles relaxing against him, thinking over his words and unsure how she was going to move forward with no memory to go on. 

The clink of metal on metal brought both their heads up, Winnie turning slightly to see John stall a foot away, two tin plates with steam rising off them in his hands. He shifted, unsure for a beat, but then continued forward when Arthur hummed his name in greeting. 

He set the plates on the ground and hunkered next to them, reaching out to run his hand over the curve of Arthur's shoulder before resting it against his neck. His other hand tentatively reached for Winnie, and she felt it ghost through her hair before settling on her back, invoking a shudder down her spine. 

He didn't push it, leaving it there only long enough to rub his thumb across the arch of her spine before withdrawing. He stood again, breath sighing out as he turned. Hands raised to bury into his hair and pull the strands back from his face, strides slow as he walked back to the cabin. 

Winnie looked down at the two plates as Arthur reached for them. "Arthur?"

He shifted under her, balancing a plate on his knee for her while holding the other out to the side. He hummed a questioning note, not looking at her as he tucked some of his portion onto her plate. 

She allowed it, sensing that it was a recurring theme. "Why am I scared of John?"

He paused, expression scrunching into a frown. "I don't rightly know, Winnie." He set down the plate and smooth a hand over her hip, rubbing back and forth with his knuckles. "He won't talk to me about it..." She frowned back at him, and he continued, bringing his free hand up to cup her face. "I do know, however, that he saved your life last night."

It was obvious that what could have happened bothered him. Winnie wondered how long he had had to look for her before he found her on that riverbank. Wondered if he would have given her the same treatment he gave John last night if she had allowed it. 

"I'm sorry, Arthur," he was already shaking his head before she finished, but she pushed on. "I don't remember you, or John, and it's not fair." She looked away for a second, gathering courage. "I know, you care for-"

"Winnie, I love you." He stated so clearly with authority the very thing she was trying to dance around, shock silencing her long enough for him to continue. "We both. Love you. That ain't gonna change just cuz you don't remember."

He held up the plate with the extra food on it, all but shoving it into her hands. When he took a bite from his own plate, she gathered enough courage to ask. 

"Will you tell me... help me, remember?"

His head canted to the side in confusion at the start of her words, and then slowly a smile spread across his face as she continued. "Tell you, about us?"

She nodded, raising the spoon to take a bite. 

"Shoah," he had a gleam in his eye, a look that made her pause for half a heartbeat. "If you clean that plate."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "I was going to?"

They sat in silence for a moment, Arthur's mouth half open as though he realized he had shown his hand before betting was finished. His hand scrubbed across his mouth, but then he shook his head and abruptly changed the subject. "How bout, I tell you bout when you asked us to lunch?"

She sputtered. "I asked you?"

He chuckled at her outraged expression, nudging her hand again in a reminder to keep eating. 

————————————

_Winnie didn't see either strange cowboy for the better part of a month. The sherif was mighty curious about them, especially after both women pressed repeatedly that the only reason no one got hurt was due to their quick thinking. Neither sherif or his two deputies could find their whereabouts or even discover their surname though, and after a while the matter was dropped and filed under 'strange occurrences'. The two would-be robbers were buried in unmarked graves at the back of the churchyard, and life moved on._

_So when Winnie spotted a stranger leaning against the high railing of the general store, black, beat up hat a dead giveaway, she made a beeline for him. He started when he caught sight of her ploughing through the muddy street with a determined expression on her face, and for a second Winnie thought he would bolt like a frightened fawn._

_Instead he met her on the bottom step, hand held aloft so she could slip her smaller one against his rough palm. Fingers closed gently, firmly, and she was tugged up next to him, away from the hustle and bustle of the main road._

_"Winnie," he sounded genuinely surprised to see her again, and it caused a laugh to bubble up her throat._

_"Arthur! I see you're getting the hang of hand shaking." A glance down at their hands, his warm one still wrapped around her own, had him dropping hers and stepping back slightly as though burned._

_"Ah, sorry..."_

_She waved off his apology, smiling up at him. "No need to be sorry, Arthur, it was quite an improvement."_

_He rubbed at the back of his neck, face turning slightly pink in a blush, and she relented. "Where's John?" She glanced around as if she could conjure the scarred cowboy up with just his name._

_"He's," he tipped his head towards the general store. When she hummed in understanding, he turned back to her, hooking his thumbs through the wide gun belt slung low around his hips. "What're you doin?"_

_"Oh, just runnin about," Winnie grinned at him again and rolled her eyes up. "Enjoying the weather. You know, being unproductive."_

_He scoffed, cocked his hip, returned her smile with a lopsided grin and raised eyebrows. "Unproductive?"_

_"That's what my brother always called it. Silly man."_

_"Silly indeed," he seemed about to say something else, but at that moment the bell above the general store's door tinkled, and they both turned at the voice that preceded its owner._

_"Preciate mister. Have a nice day."_

_John walked out the door and turned towards them, a wide grin eating up his face when his eyes landed on the two. Winnie gave a little wave, and blushed prettily when he neared them._

_"Well, well, it's nice to see you again, Ms. Winnie. Arthur here givin you trouble?" He patted Arthur on the back, hand curling around the meat of his shoulder, and pointedly ignored the confused look he received from the slightly shorter man._

_"I weren't-"_

_"Figure of speech," he leaned closer to Arthur for half a heartbeat, and the other man dropped it, though the confused look stayed on his face._

_Winnie watched them for a moment, letting the silence stretch out until John noticed and turned back to her, an unspoken question in his eyes. She glanced to where his hand was still curled around Arthur, their familiar stance, and then back at John. And took a leap._

_"Actually," she paused, making sure she had both their attentions, "he was giving me a fair bit of trouble." Winnie shouldn't have delighted in the betrayed look that Arthur gave her, his eyebrows painfully arching as his hands dropped to hang limply at his sides. John's grin grew to rival a hound's though, his eyes warming up as if he'd cotton on to her ploy._

_"Oh, really? Well, he'll have to make it up to ya, then."_

_At this Arthur broke out of John's hold and turned to face him fully, glancing quickly between the two. "What're ya-"_

_"You both can make it up to me. Over lunch."_

_That stopped Arthur dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as they met John's. The younger raised his eyebrows, tilted his head. "That sound agreeable to you, Arthur?"_

_It looked like Arthur wanted to say a thousand different things, the burst of emotions running over his face. Winnie had a prick of doubt in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like her brother's voice, berating her over the dangers of being too forward with strange men, let alone two of them._

_The voice was abruptly silenced however, when Arthur turned and offered his palm again. Winnie looked at them both, John with his grin and Arthur with his still slightly unsure look, and slid her palm once more into Arthur's firm grip._

_He tugged her along the boardwalk, in the direction of the saloon, John a half a step behind on her other side. Winnie thought she heard him murmur, "tuck her hand in the crook of your elbow," before Arthur was doing just that. When she turned to give John an odd look however, he just tipped his hat back with a finger and winked, reaching forward when they paused to hold the saloon door open._


End file.
